Getting Sober.

Excerpt from Chapter 4 “Artie The One Man Party” I changed the channel and the Boston Marathon was on. “What??” “What??!!” I was supposed to win the Boston Marathon. What was I doing here, in all this pain? I fell to my knees. God, why have you forsaken me? Why have you given me this hard, fucked-up life? I thought you loved me, God? Where are you? Fuck you, God! Fuck you!! I grabbed a piece of paper and wrote “Fuck you” on it, then put my gram of cocaine on the mirror and snorted it.  I sobbed and prayed that this would kill me. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was done hurting my loved ones. I was done feeling alone. The world would be a better place without a piece of shit like me. Then, everything went black …   I came to four hours later. The TV was blaring out the afternoon news. I looked around the living room. It looked like a bomb went off. Bottles were strewn about. The mirror still had cocaine residue on it.  I saw my suicide note. What the fuck? I am such a fuck up I can’t even commit suicide right. It was then the ceiling metaphorically caved in on me. I went into a free fall.  I hit my bottom. All the hurt and pain I had caused others consumed me, but I knew that killing myself would cause even more. I felt remorse and sadness. I didn’t want to hurt anybody anymore. I wanted to change. I didn’t want to die. For the first time in my life, I wanted help. I didn’t know if I was crazy, an alcoholic/drug addict, or both. I was numb. At the time, I didn’t know what prompted me to pick up the phone book and start calling alcohol and drug rehab centers. Today, I know it was a power greater than me that was responsible. Back then, Google wasn’t around so I had to go through the yellow pages. I started on the As, and all I got in response was how much my co-pay would be. Almost to the end of the Cs, I got a counselor on the line, Mike. He was softly spoken and asked me what was going on. I broke down and told him everything. He just listened. Then he told me what happened to him and how he got sober. He told me he was happy, that this is the facility he went to and now he works there.  I started crying; I wanted what he had. Mike patiently sat on the other end of the line as I sobbed. When the time was right, he asked, “Do you have insurance?” I didn’t know. All I knew is that every month my old brick masonry union sent me a medical insurance statement. Mike asked me for the policy number and said he would run it and call me back. We hung up. I started to clean the living room. My mind raced. Was I making a mistake? Did I really have a problem? Was I overreacting? The phone rang. I froze. I knew for sure Mike was going to tell me my insurance wasn’t contracted or valid. I answered the phone, and Mike said, “I’ve got good news. You have a great policy and you’re covered 100%.” I was shocked. I asked him, “Is everything you told me about this place true?” He said, “Yes!” He asked me if I would like a tour. I told him, “If everything you’re telling me is true I don’t need a tour.” He asked when I could come in. I told him I would be there by six. He said he would wait for me.   I called my now ex-girlfriend and told her I was going to rehab. She was genuinely happy for me, but said it’s still over. She asked if I needed a ride. I took her up on it. It was now 4 pm. My mom came home from work. She was a little surprised to see me still at her house. I told her I was checking myself into rehab. She started to cry and asked me if I really needed it. I looked at her and nodded. She hugged me and cried more out of worry than excitement. Just like me, she didn’t know what rehab/recovery was about. My ex showed up, and we left. We got on the freeway. My mind was still racing. I kept asking myself, Am I making the right choice? My ex could sense I was crawling in my skin. She looked at me and told me my bong was in the back seat. I reached for it, and she dropped a baggie of pot on my lap. I packed my bong and took the biggest hit I could. I let the smoke out and nothing happened. I took another hit and still nothing happened. I wasn’t getting high. It wasn’t working anymore. Three quarters of the way there, we hit traffic and came to a complete stop. My ex looked at me and asked, “Do you want to go in tomorrow instead?” I shook my head, NO. I knew if I didn’t go that day, I would never go. We finally got there. By now I was buzzed after taking at least 10 bong hits. I took one more then dropped the baggie of pot on her lap and said; “I’’m done.” She looked at me and said, “Remember, it’s over between us.” I nodded then walked straight to the entrance of the rehab facility, not once looking back. When I walked in, Mike was waiting for me. RIP Artie, the one-man party.